The Lost Prince
by XBolt51
Summary: "Such a little thing. A bird without feathers. They came to take his body away and Robert held me. I screamed and I battled, but he held me. That little bundle. They took him away and I never saw him again."
1. Chapter 1

_**I have always felt that Gendry has some important role to play regardless of his status as a bastard. This is primarily motivated from RNS Entertainment's video. Look it up if you want, and I hope you enjoy it (video and my story).**_

She screamed already for hours, he wish he could take the pain away from her. Robert was gone hunting when the contradictions started and now it was only him with master Pycelle in the bedchambers of his sister, who was giving birth. The baby had a big head, or that was what Pycelle said. He didn't care, he just wanted it to stop, the screaming, the pain of his sister, she didn't deserve this. The man who got her with his child wasn't even here and now he was here to help her get through it. Through everything. Cersei hated the marriage, not at first, but after the first wedding night she started to resent him, the drunken fool. He couldn't even appreciate what he had.

Finally the screaming stopped and he wiped away the tears of her face. Then he knew something was wrong, it was silent and Cersei noticed to. She sat up and looked at Pycelle who hold the cause of her pain of the last couple of hours. "A baby boy. He still lives, but it's unusual that he makes no sound, it means that something is wrong. I'm sorry your grace."

Cersei didn't even flinch or cry, she just hold out her hands to hold the boy. It looked now so small, with thick black hair. Cersei hold him to her, but he did noting, just staring at her with blue bright eyes. He was clearly Baratheon in looks, but he was also a Lannister. She didn't do anything, just looking at the quiet boy, who was staring straight back. He didn't even cry for food.

The small boy looked up at her in wonderment, his pink mouth hanging open as if to talk, his blue eyes the widest she'd ever seen. He was beautiful. She wanted to love him. She could look past the Baratheon features and raise him as a lion. But the resentment for Robert was a bitter and vile taste in her mouth, ever present. She could not look at the boy without seeing Robert, the man who made Cersei shrink into _this_. This hating, angry, upset and vile being.

Robert then came into her chambers with a stag pelt clutched in his arms. His eyes then turned to the small bundle she was holding in her arms. "He's perfect," her husband finally said, the first words she'd heard from him in several hours. "Our little stag." He reached out a finger and the boy instantly wrapped his tiny hand around it.

"And a lion," Cersei whispered, tears stinging at the back of her eyes.

"Aye." Robert's eyes never left the babe. "He looks just like you." What sort of things was he speaking of? But looking into the babe's pudgy face, she saw that he had her nose and possibly her father's jaw. And looking closer into his eyes, she could see tiny specks of the Lannister emerald green eyes within the Baratheon ocean/sapphire blue eyes.

"Have you picked a name for him?" Robert asked. He should have the honour of it. After all, she just went through one of the most horrible experiences she may had endured ever. It would practically be a boon for him to name his heir.

"No. Do you wish to name him?"

"Well, he's a Baratheon. Clear as day. How about Orys?" he said to the babe.

He then made a small gurgling noise and scrunched up his face a little. Silent as he was, he was quite responsive. He must not have like the name his oaf father picked out for him.

"Perhaps we should name him later"


	2. Chapter 2

She kept staring at the babe all through the night, only resting when Pycelle had told her to. When she came to, her brow and silky golden hair was still streaked with sweat. The babe seemed to take note of her awakening as it released a small squeal of delight. She then came and picked it up, smoothing its thick black hair. She still had yet to come up with a name for it.

Cersei tried every strong Westerlander name she could think of.  
Loreon.  
Tywald  
Tion  
Joffrey  
Damon  
Jason  
Gerold  
Even Tywin. That would certainly make her father proud; a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms with Lannister blood and bearing a proud Lannister name.

But considering just how much of a Baratheon it looks, it should have a Baratheon name.  
Orys was certainly out of the picture. The babe didn't respond to it at all.  
Harbert. For that uncle he claims he likes? No  
Robar  
Ormund  
Steffon. Too obvious for him to have a name after his grandfather.  
Davos. No. Not after a smuggler.  
Gowen.

Just as she could come up with a good name for it, Robert came through the door with Pycelle behind him. He looked ... scared to say the least. Worried? He then approached closer and looked intently at his heir. _Of course. That's why he's here._

"You can hold it." Cersei broke the silence, half hoping that Robert would refuse the offer she was forced to make. Jaime suddenly came into the room, staring at her expressing worry and concern. _He is the only who loves me, the one who understands me._

Yet, the King nodded, and took the babe from Cersei's arms. He was surprisingly gentle for a man with his strength, and incredibly careful not to hurt the new-born. For a long moment, he was silent, admiring the new life in his arms.

"He is strong." She had never seen Robert looking so happy as the moment when he turned his eyes back to her, a smile lighting up his features.

"Yes. He is." Cersei reached to brush the babe's forehead with her fingers, as gentle as she could, but allowed Robert to have the child for a bit longer.

"Like me." The man laughed at his own joke, and Cersei rested her head on the cushions behind her with a deep sigh. The gesture brought her husband's attention back to her, his thick eyebrows knitting together in a frown.

"Are you… fine?" The question took Cersei off guard. He had never even pretended to care for her, and she knew that he did not love her. He had been happy when she had told him that she was with child, but that had been all, and every man would have had the same reaction when given the news. _Of course he wants to make sure I am fine. I have to give him more sons._ The thought was bitter in her mind.

"Yes. I am strong too." She managed a tired smile, and he returned it, the worry faded away from his features. Gently, he laid the babe back in her mother's arms, allowing Cersei to hold him. The mother took the child back in her lap as if she had been afraid he would never come back to her.

"I know." She could not decide if he was sincere, or just trying to be supportive, but decided that there was no point in knowing. She turned her head towards the babe, adjusting the blanket around his tiny body to make sure he would stay warm.

"I wanted to name him Jon." Robert admitted after some moments of silence, his big hands sinking a few inches in the mattress as he placed his weight on it. The whole bed creaked at every movement from the King.

"But?" Cersei asked, glad that something had made her husband change his mind about the name of the child. She had to admit it was a good name; simple, somewhat common but a strong name. But she was not going to have her son with a northern name, though she had feared that Robert would want to make the Prince Jon Arryn's namesake.

"But my Hand of the King is too bloody modest, and asked I would choose some other name." The king explained with a half annoyed scoff. Cersei, however, could not help but be pleased that the Lord of the Eyrie had made Robert changed his mind.

"So what name did you choose?" She asked, knowing that he would never ask for her opinion on the matter. A child belonged to his father, not to his mother, especially a Prince. Especially the rightful heir, the first trueborn son.

"What name would you like?" For the third time in a few minutes, Cersei was surprised by her own husband. Was he really seeking her advice, asking her opinion? He must have noticed the questioning look on her features, for he explained himself better.

"Well… we did it together, didn't we?" Robert might have not been the best man with words, but she still somehow appreciated the effort he did. It was possibly the first thing he did she approved of since the day they had married. She took a moment to think about the answer. _Jaime. I want to name him Jaime_. She bit the inside of her cheek, looking down at the child in her arms. _No, it would not do. Robert would not approve of it._

"Lyonel." She suggested after long seconds of silence.

"Lyonel." Robert repeated, as if he was testing the name on his tongue. "Lyonel Baratheon." It was a name the both of them could approve of. A Baratheon name, with the sound of the lion's roar in it, perfect for the child born of the union of the two families.

She did not know for how long they stayed like this, in perfect silence, the both of them looking at the child now sleeping in his mother's arms. He looked so peaceful, and Cersei could not help but feeling more at ease as well. She had given her husband an heir, now. A boy… everyone would love her for it, praise her for doing her duty as a wife. She dared to ask herself if this child would make her husband love her as well, if such a thing was possible

"I'll just, uh, leave you two, to, uh, ... be" Robert said, before he then turned to leave her and Jaime. Jaime carefully placed her hand on her shoulder. She then looks to him. Lyonel. Lyonel. She can't. She can't look at him, and not hate him. It wasn't his fault. He's a babe. _**Her** _ babe. But she just ...

"I-I can't," she whispered while looking at the boy and then she looked up to him and tears were running down her face, "I can't keep the son of that man. I-I just can't. It was terrible." He knew she meant bedding with Robert, he didn't love her, just saw her as another cunt. Jaime needed to bite his tongue, he hated Robert for what he did to his sister, not appreciating what he, Jaime, could never have.

She looked back at the boy, "He looks so much like him. How can I love him, when he is the exact copy of him?" She looked at the boy that kept quiet all the time, as if it knew it wasn't welcome here, as if he knew his mother would never accept him and as if he knew he didn't belong there, didn't belong in Cersei's arms even if it was her own son.

She stroked the boys hair, gave him a kiss on the head and then turned to Jaime. "Take him away," He took the baby gentle from her arms. They both turn to Pycelle and only from his reaction, he knew Pycelle wouldn't tell anyone. Jaime looked at him with a murderous look, "Help me and the queen in this endeavor or I solemnly vow to cut you from what's left of your balls to that sunken thing you call a face" Pycelle nodded and almost ran out of the door.

Cersei looked at him with tears in her eyes, she cried for the loss of her baby, she couldn't love him, but it was still her child. "Jaime take him away and I don't want to know what you did." Her voice broke and more tears were rolling down her face. He wanted to comfort her, but first he needed to get rid of the baby, otherwise Cersei might think it's a mistake, then she would keep it and be miserable for her whole life. It also wasn't fair for the boy, he deserved a mother that would be able to love him.

He was not running out of the keep. He wanted to get this over with. The sooner he was with Cersei the better. He looked at the boy who would be perceived that, wasn't it that he stared at Jaime and still breathed softly. It was strange how quiet he was, maybe not so much a Lannister, their words 'hear me roar' didn't apply for this baby. Jaime shook his head, he was not fully Baratheon; he came out of Cersei's womb. He had Lannister blood even when the Baratheon seed was strong. For the last couple of months he had shared his blood with Cersei's, so he was surely more Lannister then Baratheon.

It was quiet at this hour even in the ale house. He was greeted by an older woman who looked at the baby with a small smile and then lead him upstairs. "She lost her child two weeks ago, she nursed some children so she still has milk for the child." Jaime had found this opportunity actually via Tyrion. His younger brother loved to go to brothels and ale houses and he heard of the woman who lost a child. Cersei didn't want her child, they already knew that. She thought he would kill him, because he was Robert's. But Jaime couldn't kill an innocent baby, especially a Lannister baby; Cersei's baby. He may be a Kingslayer, but was no kinslayer. Tyrion said the young woman looked friendly and sweet. She was only eight and ten. Strangely the requirement Jaime had for the mother was that she should be wanted the boy to know that one side of his family was blonde, even when that wouldn't matter as low born bastard.

He walked into the room and a woman or actually girl looked up. She was a commonly girl and she looked curiously at him. He held the bundle in front of him. When she took the bundle of blankets, the baby started to scream and cry, finally. He really knew that this was where he should be, he belonged. The girl looked to be in love with the boy. She loved him instantly and then Jaime knew it was the best choice he made. She put him on the breast and he started to drink immediately and then the girl started to cry from love or happiness, Jaime didn't know. He stood awkward in the room, shuffling his feet.

Then the girl looked up to him and gave him a smile, "Thank you".

Jaime nodded, "Never tell anyone about this, he is your bastard," the girl nodded, "and his name is Gendry". The boy was Baratheon in looks but he now at least had a proper name; a Lannister name, named after his favorite uncle and his aunt who was such a strong woman. His aunt would be proud of him, Genna was a strong and honest woman. His uncle Gerion or Gery would be honored with a Lannister boy named after him and his grandfather Gerold even when he would grow up as a bastard. Maybe he will learn the truth, it wasn't unlikely that he got to know that he was a Baratheon bastards with his looks, Jaime could already see that. Maybe someday he will find the boy again and tell him that even with the looks of his father, Lannister blood flowed and still flows trough him.

The girl looked at the baby at her breast, "Gendry," she tasted the name on her tongue, smiled and looked up to Jaime, "Gendry, that's a good name. A good name. Gendry."

Jaime nodded and turned around to leave, when he was at the door, he turned. "Never show up at the Red Keep if you need something. I'll make sure when needs something, he will get it. But never show up at the red keep". He didn't even saw the girl nod at him. He just turned around and walked back to the Red Keep. That night Robert hadn't returned yet and Cersei cried herself to sleep in his arms.

It was the good thing to do. He was sure of it. It was the good thing to do.


	3. Chapter 3

_**"I felt something for you once you know."**_  
 _ **"I know."**_  
 _ **"Even after we lost our first boy, for quite a while actually. Was it ever possible for us? Was there ever a time ever a moment?"**_  
 _ **"No...does that make you feel better or worse?"**_  
 _ **"It doesn't make me feel anything."**_

He and Pycelle came to Cersei's chambers to ensure that she was alright and that the plan would go well. That grey-sunken bastard had his uses. He somehow managed to procure a replacement for Robert's heir. How he managed to do so, he doesn't know or cares to know.

The other babe was put in the crib in Gendry's place. He was a bit smaller than Gendry, and the more Cersei looked at him, the more differences she found. His color was very pale, with bright red cheeks, and she knew that he was gravely ill. There would not be much time until this one would die. Her heart twisted under her breast when she heard the little one cough, tears streaming down his cheeks.

She forced herself to look away from the replacement babe, forced herself to stop thinking about Lyonel and this one. _He'll be safe…safer than he is here. Although I can't say the same about the other babe…_

"He is in good hands," Jaime assured her, voicing her thoughts. "He has someone watching over him now. Someone to love and care for him."

"I know," she replied immediately, her tone sharper than she intended. The queen took a deep breath and clutched onto the railings of the crib. "I can't believe you talked me into doing this," she muttered, more to herself than to Jaime.

"It is for the best," her father said again, more firmly this time. "And may I remind you that this was your idea." He did not need to elaborate; she knew what he was talking about.

Jaime walked up to her and put a hand on her arm, the touch warm and reassuring. "Everything will be alright."

She swallowed her tears; there would be a time for those later, when she was alone. She had to stay strong, she needed to be strong. "Of course," Cersei whispered, meeting his gaze for a short moment. She looked away right after, the tears burning. Jaime kissed her cheek and was gone right after.

For awhile, the only news she heard relating to Lyonel was how he seemed to be ailing.

I'm afraid it won't be much longer; a few days, perhaps." Grand Maester Pycelle looked over at Cersei, a grim expression on his face. He had been in and out of her quarters for the past three days, tending to the new born babe in the crib. The fever was too strong, and nothing was working.

Cersei slumped over in her chair, her face full of fatigue and worry. Worry over another woman's son. Her hand went to her forehead as she closed her red puffy eyes. Robert had been behind her, and he made another loving gesture as he placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Thank you, Maester Pycelle." His voice was soft, concerning. She did not think he was capable.

"Your Grace." He bowed his head as he slowly exited the room, the large wooden door closing behind him and leaving Robert and Cersei alone.

Once Maester Pycelle left the quarters, she got up, making Robert's hand fall from her shoulder. She went across the room to the crib that held the sick babe; she picked him up carefully and brought him to her chest. Cersei tried to care for the boy, to feel sorry that this illness was taking him away from the world. But she couldn't, all she could think of was Lyonel.

"He likes the sun." Cersei turned a bit; she didn't even hear him walk up behind her. Robert reached over and gently ran his hand over his head, the black tufts of hair moving back as he did so. Cersei bit her lip as the tears filled her eyes, willing them back. _I'm a lion of Casterly Rock, lions do not cry._

"You are going to miss your hunt." Cersei straightened her back as Robert's hand dropped from the sick baby's head.

Robert nodded, his hand going to the back of his neck. "I can stay."

"When do you ever miss the chance to stick a spear through a boar?" She looked out the window; all she could see from her spot in the room was the sky.

"Cersei," Robert sighed and moved in front of her. Her eyes went to his, an apology reflecting in them.

"Please, stay."

Robert nodded, one of his hands going to her shoulder, the other under the baby's head.

Cersei hadn't slept that night; she was up with the baby, holding him and soothing him. The air in the chambers smelt of death. Varys had given them fresh lavender to spread around the room to dull the smell, but death still loomed.

Much to her surprise, Robert had stayed up with her, taking his turn holding Lyonel and trying to get him to eat. The baby wasn't taking any milk, but Robert was not giving up. Cersei couldn't help but smile at his determination; it was there, whether it was taking a kingdom or getting a baby to feed.

But as determined as her King might be, it did not get the sick babe to feed. It was a matter of time until the fever completely took him. Grand Maester Pycelle could not offer any more to ease the illness for Lyonel, and so they sat in the chambers and waited.

His breathing became ragged, shallow and throughout the day Cersei had noticed the color fading from his face. She had wrapped him loosely in a blanket and sat in her bed, rocking him slowly to sooth him as he fought harder and harder./ppRobert had been pacing, his striking black hair a mess as he kept running his hands through the strands. He was not good at this, but Cersei did appreciate that he tried.

The waiting game was becoming unbearable; dusk was almost upon them as the babe was losing his strength. It was astonishing how he was holding on to life, how he was not giving up. With Robert's help, Cersei had moved from the bed to a chair near the window overlooking the ocean- a small warm breeze had taken up and was pushing back her long blond hair.

The baby did not seem to notice as he drew ragged breaths into his tiny lungs. Cersei had stopped looking at him; she couldn't bear to see his face twist in pain. She had placed a slender hand gently on his stomach, so she would know when his life was over. Robert had continued his pacing, until finally she could feel it, the last draw of breath.

Her own breath caught in her throat and she looked down at the baby, who was now still. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she looked over at Robert. When he heard the creaking of the rocking chair stop, he did so as well. Fear was in his blue eyes as he looked over at his wife. He moved towards her and knelt next to her, his hand going to rest on top of hers. "He's gone."

Cersei nodded as her eyes filled with tears. She dropped her head softly and shut her eyelids tight. Robert had got up just as quickly as he knelt beside her, his footsteps got further and further away from him. The chamber door opened and she could hear his deep voice give off some commands to Pycelle. Then the chamber door shut, but his footsteps did not come closer to her.

She started to rock in the chair again and pulled the babe closer to her breast. "I'm so sorry…" Finally, she let the tears slip from her eyes and down her cheeks. Robert would never know what she was truly sorry about, and she prayed to the gods that no one would ever figure it out to tell him./pp"Robert, I am so sorry."

Robert could not stand it; this woman was falling apart before his eyes. He moved from his spot near the door, his own tears filling his eyes and rolling down his cheeks into his beard. He stood behind her, his hands going to both of her shoulders.

"Shh, it is not your fault."

But it was. Cersei lifted her head and let it fall back against the chair; she looked out over the ocean, peaceful and perfect. But the peace was soon disrupted as the bells ran through the halls, through the kingdom. The bells that let the world know that the babe she held in her arms, was dead.

 ** _Sorry. I just had to give them one happy moment in the marriage, albeit a pretty sad and melancholy moment._**

 ** _Just to clarify; this will not be a Gendrya story. It's just centered around Gendry growing up as an orphan; but that will be a part of the story. Although much later._**


	4. Chapter 4

_**At the hollow hill, what you said about being King Robert's men, and brothers, I liked that. I liked that you gave the Hound a trial. Lord Bolton just hanged folk or took off their heads, and Lord Tywin and Ser Amory were the same.**_

"Oy, Kem! Hurry up!" Gendry shouted.

Even though Kem was older and taller than Gendry, he had trouble keeping up with the four-year old boy. "Aye. I'm coming, I'm coming!"

There wasn't much luxuries in King's Landing. But once there was word of a puppeteer coming by to do a show for the children, he couldn't wait to see it. He, Urreg, and Gerren ran toward the space.

He had never felt excited for anything else in his life. It all looked beautiful. The scenery was beautifully painted and depicted with clouds, bursts of sunlight with small buildings.

"... unhand her this instant!" said the puppet knight.

The other puppet that began to move and talk unnerved him a bit. "She dare! She dare mock the dragon!"

"Unhand the maiden!"

"She will pay for her insolence!"

The two puppets looked so alive and filled with vigor. It didn't look or feel like a puppet show. Gendry had felt so entranced by it.

"... and so, the brave Ser Duncan the Tall hath made the mighty Aerion Brightflame, a dragon, yield. A young humble man who hailed from Flea Bottom. Thick-headed as a castle wall, and taller than any man alive. He had risen high, and become the Commander of the Kingsguard."

"Wooww!" Gendry sighed in awe. That was it. That is what he is meant to be. I will swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon me, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be.

"What? You thinking of being a knight, Gendry?" Urreg mocked.

"Shut up, Urri!" Gerren said. "Any man can rise high. Bastards have even rose to be Commanders of the Night's Watch!"

"Right! Cuz people want to command an army of thievers and rapers!"

"People can rise as high and low. Any man can be a knight, but it takes someone true like men of the Kingsguard to stay true"

Ser Gendry the Grey? No.

Ser Gendry the Good? No, that doesn't sound right.

The Bonebreaker? Sounds scary rather than gallant. Gendry the Gallant was too obvious.

Ser Gendry the Giant. Near perfect.


	5. Chapter 5

**_"You know who he is. Who paid his apprenticeship fees?"_**

 ** _"He is a strong boy, m'lord," he avoids making eye contact and Ned can tell that he is nervous at this moment. "I took him on with no fee."_**

 ** _"You lie,"_**

 ** _"It was a Lord," he states in defeat. "He wore no sigil, m'lord. He paid twice the fee. One for the boy and one for my silence."_**

She had once been a mother before. That was until the Gods saw it fit to take away her child away. Then by some miracle, the Kingslayer saw it fit to grant her a new child. Gendry. He was growing fast, though, and every day he looked less like a babe and more like a boy.

One day he would be grown (she had seen him in a dream, a man grown, tall and strong and beautiful, and it warmed her heart and broke it at the same time) and he would not remember her. Nor had he a father to remember, not in any way that really counted.

No, her beautiful boy would not remember her. He would not love her, never know her face, not if everything worked out for the best. But she would love him for always, and could only hope that someday he might come to forgive her, that someday he might come to understand. Even if he did not, it would be all right, because in order to hate her he had to be alive, and that was all that really mattered.

And for that it was strange that someone as famed as mysterious as The Spider came to her home. The eunuch wrapped in mystery that, supposedly, knew every secret from the North to Dorne.

"A small but rather quaint place you have here, my dear. But many nobles such as the Lannisters always overlook the common born that are forced to look at their feet"

"Just who are you exactly and why are you here"

"No, I am no one of importance. Neither are you," Lord Varys said, ignoring her question entirely. "But your son… Gendry, is it not? Well, he's another matter."

"How do you know of my son?" she demanded.

"Knowing things is a… specialty… of mine, Miss… Tyanna , is it not? A very pretty name." Lord Varys smiled when he spoke and his eyes twinkled, as if everything he said was a joke only he understood.

"You didn't answer my question. Why are you here? Why the interest in my son?"

"Because the boy is not truly your son now, is he?"

Just what had she gotten herself into? "Uh, u-um, no. H-he w-was a gift ... f-from the Gods." she muttered.

"You don't know just what he is. What the boy truly is, and the threat he could pose?"

"He was a baby who lost his mother. I am his mother. I have been for nearly six years. No one is going to take that away from me!"

"I don't mean to take away your child away from you, my lady. But it is quite apparent that you will be taken away from him in due time. And that is not something that the boy should be burdened with."

How did he know of her wasting sickness? But he was the Spider, and the Spider knew everything. But why would the Spider be interested in her and her child?

"He can have a better life. Simply take my hand and follow my instructions" he said, holding out a small parchment.

"Thank you, Lord Varys. Now, please, leave my home" she said. With that note, the Spider silently exited her home. She then went to Gendry's room. He looked so peaceful, steadily breathing as his broadening chest moved in a perfect rhythm. Gendry was her baby. No matter what. She raised him, she kissed his hurts, she sang him to sleep. He was her son. But not even she could protect him from what it meant to lose something or someone that is important and close to your heart.

* * *

"Mommy, where are we going?" her small boy with ice blue eyes asked as he looked up at his mother. She smiled down at him, her face smudged with soot and nose red from a chill.

"We are going to King's Landing, sunshine." She squeezed his hand tightly a few time, and listened to him giggle. She smiled sadly. She walked slowly toward her destination towing her little bright eyed five year old behind her. His eyes were wide; he looked at everywhere to try to take in as much as he could. He looked at the sparkling trees, still covered in dew from the chilled night. He looked down at his feet as the wet ground made small squishy sounds as he and his mother stepped through the muddy ground. He smiled at the small spittle of mud that kept flying up his legs and his mother's. The small boy was so enthralled in his little discoveries that he barely noticed the tears streaming down her face. She cried silently as the small boy frolicked beside her, never letting go of her hand.

 _His trust is so definite._ She thought. _My poor boy…_ She looked forward and through her tears, she could see the skyline and King's Landing peaking as they scampered up the hill.

"I'll race you, Momma!" exclaimed the little boy. He ran up the hill, his jaunty little legs carrying him, letting himself be pushed by the wind toward the top of the hill. The young woman smiled and wiped her tears away as she chased her toddler up the hill. When the dark haired boy reached the top he stopped, and gasped. His mother stepped up behind him and knelt to his level.

"This, my son, is King's Landing."

The little boy's eyes glowed at the tall towers that stretched high beyond the walls that surrounded the city. "Who lives there, Momma?" He turned to face his mother, meeting her eyes. She blinked back a few tears, knowing that what she should be saying. _You do, dear, sweet Gendry. You would have lived here._ , but instead she kissed him sweetly on the brow and told him "The King lives there, sweetling."

Gendry's eyes lit up, making tears well in his mother's eyes. "King Robert?"

"Yes, sweet one. King Robert lives in that tower, right there." She pointed upward to the largest, tallest tower, where she believed the King slept. "And his Hand Jon Arryn lives there." She pointed to a tall tower off the left side of the King's tower: the tower of the Hand.

"Can we go there?" Gendry looked up at his mother, tugging her hand eagerly.

"No, sunshine. We can't go to the castle. It's no place for common-folk like me… or you, sweet one." Smiling sadly, she pulled her beloved son into her arms to hug him tightly. "Come, this way." She led him towards a side entry into the Kingdom of King's Landing. There, a man stood, waiting for something.

Gendry cooed and sighed at the beauty of the barrier wall as they walked closer towards it, blind to where his mother was leading him.

The man that stood on the edge of the wood was a burly, hardened man. His eyes were cold as he watched the woman and her small child waddle towards him.

"Momma, who's that?" The little boy asked his mother. She shushed him and tugged him along, stopping in front of the enormous man. The woman met the waiting man's eyes and nodded solemnly.

"I am Tobho Mott, and you are my new smith hand." Tobho's voice boomed, making the small child move to cover his ears. "No crying, boy!" The man boomed again. Gendry cringed, feeling tears of fear gather along his long bottom lashes.

"Gendry, you mustn't cry. Be a big boy, please. Be a big boy for Momma." she said, but her voice now showed her fear; cracking and breaking as she hypocritically told her son to be strong. Kneeling down to be eye level with her little boy, the light haired woman ran her fingers through her son's dark hair.

"Gendry," she started. "Gendry, I must leave you here, with Tobho. You need to stay here, and work with him, to be an ironsmith, and to work for the King." Tears had begun to flow freely down his mother's face, and wee Gendry's eyes softened in confusion.

"Momma, why are you crying?" He raised a hand to soothe his mother. "Just come with me!" He smiled hopefully, waiting for her response. At this, his mother began to cry harder, yielding small wailing noise.

The large man laughed. "No, I'm afraid we don' need another bitch 'round to complicate things! Just you, boy!" He reached for Gendry, grabbing him firmly by the upper arm.

"Ouch!" The boy exclaimed. "You're hurting me!" At his exclamation, the boy received a quick blow to the back of the head. His young mother wailed harder as the ironsmith hit her son, but knew that he was no longer in her care.

"That'll be whatcha get e'rytime you be talk back, boy." He held the boy close to his face, Gendry's feet dangling several feet from the ground. "Now, ya oughta say goodbye to your mother!"

Tobho dropped Gendry onto the dirt ground, and watched him leap into his mother's arms.

"Momma! Momma,don't go! Momma, please don't go!" It was now that the boy started to cry, tears smearing the dirt that had settled onto his pale face, contrasting into his dark hair, which was also ridden with dirt.

"Go, Gendry!" His mother pried his arms off her, which were squeezing tightly around her neck, and shoved him into Tobho's arms. Then she watched the horse-sized man lumber off, holding her five year old son, as he kicked and fought with every breathe to get back to her arms.

"Momma!" He cried for her. "Momma! Momma, no!"

"I love you, please remember that. Goodbye, my Gendry." She whispered, tasting her salty tears run into her mouth. "My sweet, sweet boy…" She watched until the gate was closed and she could no longer hear the sound of him calling for her, though she sensed that the man had hit him again.

She suddenly felt cold, and she pulled her small, tattered shawl tighter around her shoulders and stumbled off back home, still crying. When she got to the top of the hill, she looked back and saw the shimmering city of King's Landing where her boy would grow up. _That was where he was meant to grow up_. She thought. _His father truly was the King, that boy his child. But I've hidden him where no one else may look for him; right under Queen Cersei's nose._

So long as Robert was King, she knew that neither she nor her son were in any danger. Robert would never visit him or know or remember him and her. She was safe, and more importantly, her son was safe. Her son was home.


	6. Chapter 6

_**You won't be stealing no kisses from a princess, nor riding in no tourneys in stolen armor. You join us, you'll end with your neck in a noose, or your head mounted up above some castle gate.**_

* _clank clang clank_ *

Gendry watched Tohbo as he hammered the red hot steel into a thin sheet. The sweat drenched the blacksmith's shirt, and gathered around the hem of his britches. It was a hot day, and Gendry's own smallclothes were damp with his own sweat. Tohbo grunted, and the muscles in his flabby arms were defined for just a moment as he raised the hammer before dropping it down again. Gendry watched from behind the barrel of water, waiting for Tohbo to submerge the burned steel.

The streets were alive around the small smithy. A baker was calling "Rolls for sale! Three for a copper!". A woman walked from fruit stall to vegetable stall, trailing 4 small children together. The eldest of the four seemed to be herding the smaller ones; making sure they didn't get trodden on or lost within the crowd. A small tangent of the Kingsguard walked around and through the people of King's Landing. They walked with their noses up, and their ivory white capes flowing behind them. _They think they're so high and mighty_ … Gendry thought spitefully.

Although the though was spiteful, he envied them. They were men who were knights, who had the honour of serving the King and Queen, who lived in the castle, instead of living in a smithy or Flea Bottom. They probably ate like kings every night; hot stews and tart wine, duck and boar's meat, with an assortment of vegetables Gendry had probably never heard of from all over Westeros. A guard turned his head so survey this side of the street as he walked by, and met Gendry's own gaze; but just for a moment. But in that moment, Gendry thought the man had to have had the saddest eyes he'd ever seen.

A man later came by to ask about repairs to his helm. He remembered that thing. Tobho could make anything and make it looks like anything to behold and fear. And that helm may have been one of the most scariest things he'd ever seen. A snarling hound helm. He must have figured that the man either really wanted to be feared, or that this helm was to hide the beast the man truly was.

Gendry stopped dead in his tracks when we saw the man standing inform of his master. He caught a glimpse of the opposite side of the man's face. It was disfigured all the way up to his scalp. He was a large, broad man, covered in black mail and cloth. His eyes were dark with rage and hatred, and made Gendry shiver as the stranger turned to look at him. Gendry dropped his gaze to stare at his dirty shins and grungy socks.

"Hmm." The man in black grunted in the boy's general direction. "That yours?"

Tohbo swung around. "He's just my 'pprentice. Let him alone." Tohbo shooed Gendry away with a hand behind his back, away from the strange man.

The large man then approached him. Gods, he wasn't the five-year-old boy crying for his mother anymore, but in this moment, he wanted nothing more than for her to be here and calm him. "Do I frighten you, boy?" the man said. His voice was so hoarse that it sounded like he was in pain but he wasn't.

"N-No, ser" Gendry said numbly. He then tried to look down to the ground. Gods, that face is such a horrid thing to look at.

"I'm not a fucking, ser. I'm Sandor Clegane. A Hound. A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he'll look you straight in the face" he said, nearly hissing out the last part.

Gendry then looked to Tobho Mott who's hand's were now quavering as he held the man's helm. The Hound then sneered at him, "You thinking on being a knight, boy? Want to be the next knight a' the fucking Kingsguard?"

Gendry looked down and then turned up to look at him. "I do. I'll be as brave and true as any knight should be."

"You must be as thick as a castle wall, boy. What do you think a knight is for, boy? You think it's all taking favors from ladies and gaining glory? Knights are for killing. I killed my first man at twelve. I've lost count of how many I've killed since then. High lords with old names, fat rich men dressed in velvet, knights puffed up like bladders with their honors, yes, and women and children too- they're all just meat, and I'm the butcher. Let them have their lands and their gods and their gold. Let them have their sers."

He doesn't make any sense. The Hound just told him that he's not a knight. So, why would he tell him this? "Maybe so. But I will be a knight one day. And I will do as a knight should. Defend the defenseless. Protecting folk. And fighting bravely like a true knight should."

The Hound looked him straight in the eye and lowered his voice, "There are no true knights, no more than there are gods. If you can't protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can. Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world, don't ever believe any different."

* * *

"You were a bloody fool to have talked like that to the Hound! For fuck's sake, he could have killed you then and there!" Tobho lectured him.

"But he didn't now, did he?"

"AWRGH! One of these days, that stubborn bull-head o' yours is gonna get you killed lad!" Tobho said.

After a while, Mott seemed to calm down and warned him not to do something so heedlessly reckless. "Here…" The blacksmith turned back around holding a sketching pad and a few think sticks of charcoal. " I thought it was time that you built something that you designed yourself… that way, you can start comissionin' works of your own 'round 'ere." Gendry took the pad from him, and bit his lip to fight a smile, and instead met his elder with a firm handshake and a nod. "I appreciate that, ser." He turned back to their storage area, ducking behind the door a moment.

"I'm not a Ser, I'm just a blacksmith. But you could be one if ya try to" Tohbo smiled to himself as he readied a fire for a day's work. "Just a blacksmith."

Gendry sat down as the small kitchen table, where Kem and his brother Kennet kneaded meat across from him. He was grateful that Tobho had brought them over in his service, in spite of serving him meals. He'd known them nearly all his life, and Kem had been like a brother to him as well. Kem and Gendry sat for a long time, in total silence, with the exception of the sound of Kennet squishing meat. In his mind, he ran over thoughts and designs of possible things he could make.

He thought about making a dagger; a small, easily concealed blade for his own protection. He could sculpt the hilt into a tree, or vines, or maybe even a beautiful woman… or a longer blade; more like a short sword than a dagger. He could imagine himself beating the hard steel into a long rectangular strip. He could almost taste the flames as the licked the steel he'd seen Tohbo work a thousand times. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, thinking about running his fingers across the finished product, and looking down at his broken reflection in the shaped blade.

 _What would I do with a sword?_ He thought. _I'll be a blacksmith for the rest of my life. I'm a blacksmith. A good one. I'm not a soldier._ Gendry ran his hands through his hair, exasperated. _The Hound's right. How am I gonna be a Ser?_

"It's alright, Bull." Kennet stood, bringing the meat to the wood stove he'd been keeping hot all day. "Ideas don't happen overnight."

Gendry laughed under his breath. "Ideas don't happen too easily for me, Ken. I'm a slow thinker."

"Oi!" Kennet cuffed him lightly about the ear. "Don't you be sayin' that, Gendry m'boy! You're a young man with a brilliant mind! I've seen the things you've sketched, the things you've helped Tohbo make."

"For other folks, not fo' me. It needs to _be_ something to me, to be important to me! I've got to prove to Tohbo that I can do this!" Gendry's voice raised as he go more and more frustrated.

"Oi, Gendry!" Tobho called from the other room." Don't you be yellin' at Ken there!"

"Yes, ser." Gendry picked up the charcoal stick and began to sketch. Kennet watched him muss over his lines, dappling in dark areas, and smudging lines with his fingers. His paper went from blank to full, dark with his vision coming together on paper. He sketched and sketched, using the thin charcoal to perfect his drawing. Much unlike his normal sketches, this drawing seemed to perfect itself on his first try. He had sketched an angular view of what is was he was going to make; his personal project.

"A helm…?" Kennet quietly murmured.

Confidence swirled around Gendry as he admired his work. His heart beat quickly as he uttered the words, but they rang proudly in the small kitchen. "A Bull."


	7. Chapter 7

_**"Who asked questions before?"**_

 _ **"Lord Arryn came first, few weeks before he died. Then Lord Stark, few weeks before he died"**_

The air was overwhelming, each breath seeming to bring with it the stench and taste of the lower city air. It was entirely too hot for the lavish clothes Jon Arryn chose to don that morning, and if he were down in the slums to follow his own whims, he would have immediately chosen to retreat and deal with his matters on another occasion.

Only he wasn't entering the lower city for himself. He was doing it for his King. For Robert.

He knew that there were consequences for what he had discovered in the book that he had inquired Grand Maester Pycelle for. Jon Arryn was not a fool and knew well whom Pycelle was truly loyal to. Stronger men had died from smaller theories, he was no different. The Lannisters would surely know by nightfall and his death planned by the week's end. And if he were to die for a theory, it would be better to have it confirmed for himself, if only for a peaceful death of knowing the truth. For Robert.

So the Hand of the King ventured further into what was commonly referred to as Flea Bottom in search of the first of what was surely many of Robert's bastards. He had to see each of them to ensure that his findings were correct; it would not do for him to believe without proof, even if they were his own findings.

"Never jump to conclusions, boys. It is the surest way to finding yourself between a rock and a sword."

The corner of his lip twitched at the memory of his boys. He may not have been their father by blood, but he raised them with the love and firm hand of a true parent. It is for that bond that they have formed all those years ago that he now risked his life to discover the truth for his King.

Jon Arryn carefully weaved his way deeper into the throng of the morning crowd, ensuring to keep the folds of his robes firmly closed to keep any wandering hands from latching onto his coin purse. He made his turn onto the Street of Steel and allowed his hands to relax as he immediately spotted more than a couple of knights that were flitted about the street, making purchases of their own before duty called.

It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for. The largest building on the street laid before him, ornate doors depicting a hunting scene and two stone knights protecting either side of the entrance were certainly fitting for the master armorer of Kings Landing.

Jon Arryn briefly recalled people mentioning the great work of this master armorer, yet he could not for the life of him drudge up the name. I don't suppose it would be completely necessary for me to know his name. I've come too far in my findings to give up all at once.

Not more than a step or two closer to the blacksmith's shop than before, but already Jon Arryn could feel the intense heat from the blazing fire that was surely kept in the back of the shop. The scent of the city seemed to melt away the closer he moved towards the shop. The only thing that he could smell for certain was burning metal, a strange, coppery scent that was both like and unlike blood.

"Can I help you m'lord?" A man wearing clothes entirely too clean to have been doing any sort of physical work that morning stepped up to him, wizened old eyes on a man who was most likely a decade or two younger that Jon Arryn himself.

"Ah yes, I am Jon Arryn, Hand of King Robert Baratheon." He knew well enough that the golden pin explained itself, yet he had never quite gotten over the habit of introducing himself by his title first; he nodded back when the master armorer bowed his head ever so slightly in respect. "I am here to inquire about your apprentice. Is he in today?"

The man's eyes narrowed, a hint of darkness nearing the edges of his mouth. "What has he done?" The question was measured carefully as to leave no hint of anger in his tone, but the master armorer's abrupt words were uttered so quietly it left no room for the imagination of how he truly felt.

"The boy has done nothing." Jon Arryn grunted. "I merely wish to speak to him, the matters are my own, you see." He added when the armorer opened his mouth presumably to ask after the purpose of the visit. It wouldn't do to have too many people knowing the King's business, especially over matters as personal as this.

"...Very well, m'lord." The man's eyes slanted off to Jon Arryn's side, most likely another customer approaching, before nodding back towards his shop. "He'll be in the back, tending to the fire."

"Good man." Jon Arryn hummed his thanks, which was ignored in favor of the customer with a bag full of coin. Were he further from discovering the truth for himself, he would have minded, but as it were, he was ready to set his eyes on Robert Baratheon's oldest bastard, as far as they knew.

The heat seemed to be thicker as he ventured further into the blacksmith shop, and aside from brushing his sweat off with the cuff of his sleeve, he didn't waver from his quest.

He ducked through a narrow row of dense glistening chainmail, even spotting one or two bodies of scale armor that had to be older than himself as he passed, and he was only rewarded once he broke through the line to the other side.

The child had his back to Jon Arryn, but that black hair, those broad shoulders, even the way he held himself simply screamed Baratheon. He could only imagine how much he took after Robert. The Hand of the King opened his mouth and moved to step forward.

"Gendry!"

The young bastard immediately turned towards the source of the call. A young scrawny blond boy who seemed to be friendly with him.

Jon Arryn's breath stuttered. His hand twitched at his side and shook all the way up his chest as he held it strong against his heart, just to ensure that it was still beating.

Just to ensure that he hadn't died and awoken in one of his fondest memories.

Gendry Waters looked almost exactly as Robert had as a child of the same age, only where Robert's eyes had always been glinting with mischief and excitement, his son's were hardened, having grown in an entirely different environment. The faint smile across the boy's lips wasn't that of a shared joke, but more of an invitation of saying something to set him off; this boy's smile was that of a person who had grown up fighting for his life and was prepared to do so at any time.

* * *

Stannis had tried not to make any sort of reaction when Jon Arryn had suggested they look around King's Landing for yet another one of Robert's bastards. This would be the fifth one they found, but every time they found one, it got closer and closer to the cut and he could only grind his teeth in agitation. The four of them, nothing but cheap scrawny imitations of Robert. Stannis had an idea about why Jon wanted to seek out Robert's bastards. Anyone that sat and thought on it could see the reason just by glancing at Joffrey, Tommen, or Myrcella. Still, it made him nervous digging in a place that he felt should be left untouched. Robert wanted nothing to do with the women that had fathered his bastard children and even less with the bastards he'd whelped. They shouldn't get involved with these children either. They had bad blood, bastard blood.

 _Baratheon blood, our blood._

"This is the last one in King's Landing, I think," Jon had told him that morning when they were alone. Stannis had simply nodded his head and went with it, not saying a word about his hesitations.

Now it was midday and they were traveling through the city. Stannis rode behind Jon, watching the people that they passed by. Any one of these people could be spying on them for Varys, the Queen, or Littlefinger. Any one of these people could be reporting to someone else about where they were going or what they were doing. There were more spies than actual citizens in this city sometimes. He trusted few people in this town, probably only Lord Arryn. Renly still acted like a boy and Robert was too busy with his drinking and whoring. But he could not trust one person with everything, not Jon Arryn or Davos Seaworth or his wife. Stannis had little time for secrets, but there were some things even an honest man would take to his grave nonetheless.

"Where are we headed?" Stannis asked as he forced his horse to trot alongside Jon's.

The older man scratched at his graying beard. "I believe I found Robert's oldest male bastard at a smithy owned by a man named Tobho Mott."

Stannis felt his throat closing in on him, but he forced himself to nod his head again and then look away. He could not allow Jon to see the conflicted look on his face. They rode the rest of the way in silence. Stannis preferred it that way, but now he was left with his troubling thoughts. It was Robert's bastard that they would find. Stannis had no doubt about that. After all, no one would question it. Robert had made making bastards more of a business than being king. What did it matter anyways? Robert had over a dozen bastards running around Westeros. What did another one mean?

Once at the armory shop, both men got off their horses and tied them up. Jon went into the building first while Stannis paused. He hadn't been here in five years, and it felt strange to come back. When he stepped inside the building, it looked like most places. Perhaps the work was a little finer than most other smith's around here, but he'd seen better too. Jon was talking to the owner, Tobho Mott, about the mysterious man that had come and paid the bastard boy's apprentice fee. Had he been another person, he might have smiled to himself, but he set his mouth in a grim line. Perhaps that had been the only time Stannis had ever felt that Varys was useful. For all his spying, he was a very discrete man. Stannis did not go to the two men and instead walked past them, towards the noise of a hammer ringing against metal.

The forge was filled with heat. The crackling of the burning coils seemed to sing with the sound of metal against metal. There was a stark contrast with the armor in here compared to outside on display. There were a few pieces in here that were quite impressive. A bull's helm caught his eye, and he walked over to it, not caring about the heat the fire. He picked up the helm, moving it between his hands, feeling the smoothness of it and gazing at the fine detail and shape. It was a very fine work from a very good blacksmith. Tobho Mott must've slaved away on it.

Stannis was too distracted to notice that the sound of the hammer banging on metal had stopped. He was only pulled out of his thoughts when a petulant voice interrupted them: "That's _mine_."

When Stannis looked up to see who the voice belonged to and to tell them just who they were dealing with, he was caught off guard by who he was greeting. The boy was tall and broad for his age, probably due to working in a blacksmith shop, but even in the dim lighting of the forge, Stannis could tell what the boy looked like clear as day. He had raven black hair that hung in his eyes and over his ears and the brightest blue eyes that spoke of defiance.

 _Baratheons are always too bold for their own good._ But this one wasn't a Baratheon. Not a true one, he was a bastard.

"Do you know who I am, boy?" Stannis asked harshly.

The boy screwed his face up in concentration, looking at the older man more carefully. His eyes were more adjusted to this lighting than Stannis', but it still made it difficult to see, especially since they weren't standing right by the fire. The boy finally frowned and made a funny, little bow, as if he was rarely around those that were high born. Mott must've made sure the boy stayed in the back away from the customers for the most part. "Yes, m'lord, you're Stannis Baratheon." And then his eyes flicked back up to Stannis' face, "But that helm's still mine, m'lord. It's not for sale. I made it for me."

Stannis held out the helm. "You made this?"

"Yes, m'lord."

Stannis examined it again and then handed it back over to the boy. His hands and face were covered in soot, reminding Stannis of all the times Robert would come back to Storm's End covered in dirt and blood from a hunt, grinning like the idiot he was. "That's fine work for a boy of…"

"Four and ten."

The age was right, Stannis realized. "Four and ten? And you're already able to shape metal like that?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders. "I'm good at what I do, m'lord. My master says I was made to wield a hammer."

Perhaps it was more than that. Robert had been built to wield a warhammer, as he had done in battle. Stannis had always thought Robert a fool, until he'd smashed Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident with his warhammer. This boy though – it was a little more than that. Anyone could see that he had Baratheon blood in him and the fact that he could smith like this at such a young age was proof that he was strong and even talented. He used a hammer, just like Robert. That would be exactly what Jon would think and say once he saw the boy. He was living proof of the strength of Baratheon seed. It didn't matter what his mother looked like. There was not a single hint of his mother in him.

"What is your name?" Stannis asked.

"Gendry, m'lord," the boy responded, his eyes dropping again.

"So you're a bastard then." Stannis didn't mean for his words to come out carefully, but they did. Gendry nodded his head, his eyes still trained on the ground. It was one thing to be a lowborn in the presence of a highborn; it was quite another to be a bastard. "Do you know who your father is?"

Gendry looked back up to him. They looked at each other in a moment of silence, and for a second, Stannis felt like he might panic, but he didn't. It must have been strange for the boy though, being spoken to a man that looked like himself. Stannis wondered if the boy might be thinking that he was speaking with his father, but if he did, he said nothing of the sort. Gendry shook his head. "No, m'lord, I never knew my father. My mum never talked about him; and I barely even knew her. She died when I was little."

"Didn't you ever feel like knowing?" Stannis found himself asking, as if someone else was asking the question and not himself.

Gendry furrowed his brows and looked at him with distrust. He set his mouth in a line, practically mirroring Stannis without even realizing it. Finally, the boy said, "I don't see how knowing who abandoned me and my mum would change anything."

Stannis did not think that the stark words would sting. He did not think that the guilt would bite so hard. He did not think that seeing this boy that was clearly of the same blood as him would actually hurt. But he had been wrong. The boy was right. His father had abandoned him, like many men did when they accidentally fathered a child. His father had left him on his own. His father had left him with no name or House of his own; and when his mother had died, his father had left him with no family either. How cruel could one man be to an innocent child? This had been the very reason that Stannis had so loathed Robert's loose abandon with whores and women. It wasn't just dishonorable, but it was a disgrace and it always left someone hurt in the end. Creating a bastard wasn't the only consequence of such dishonors; that bastard had to grow and live as well.

"You truly have no interest in knowing?"

"Why would I?" Gendry replied, somewhat fiercely. "Do you know who my father is, m'lord?"

Stannis could have said a lot of things in that moment. He could have said that he did. He could have said that Robert was his father. He could have said that Gendry was a Waters, meaning that he was a highborn's bastard. He could have said that he might know or had heard a rumor. He could have told the damned truth.

But instead, Stannis shook his head. "I do not. I simply thought it strange that you wouldn't even be bothered to know."

"The man didn't want anything to do with me," Gendry pointed out, gripping the helm tightly in his hands, as if it might protect him, "so I don't want anything to do with him."

Stannis fought the urge to sigh, to shake his head, to nod his head, to slap the boy upside the head, to storm out of the armory. He could not allow for this boy to undo his steely reserve. He tapped at the helm. "If you continue to work like this and improve, perhaps one day soon, you'll be able to leave this hovel and work for a much better price and person," was all that he said in the end, before he turned around and walked back to the front of the shop, leaving the boy to watch his retreating figure. He nodded to Jon and walked out of the shop with Jon following him.

"So?" Jon asked as they untied their horses. "Did you see the boy?"

"Yes, I did." Stannis did not look at him as he untied his horse and pulled himself onto the saddle.

"And?"

 _And you found a child who was undeniably Robert's. You found his son._

"He is Robert's bastard son," Stannis told him. "There is no doubt in my mind."


End file.
